


between the woods and frozen lake

by wrennette



Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [30]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Blanket Permission, Cam is hella old, Evil Author Day, Immortal!Cam, M/M, Set at an indeterminate time when Cam is still feeling like he doesn't really fit in with the team, don't repost or copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: Methos meets the real world's oldest Immortal. He's a member of SG-1, and no, it isn't Daniel Jackson.
Relationships: Methos (Highlander) & Daniel Jackson, Methos (Highlander)/Cameron Mitchell
Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/712446
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	between the woods and frozen lake

**Author's Note:**

> happy evil author day! For those unfamiliar with the premise, ead is annually on 02/15, and we evil authors post fic titles, snippets, and so forth with absolutely zero promise that these works will be continued or completed. this fic has been languishing in my drafts for a long while without advancing, so here you go, happy ead!

Cameron swore to himself and scanned the room as stealthily as possible. He hadn't lived this long by being stupid and lazy, but he really had hoped to avoid other Immortals for a while longer. It figured that the one time Teal'c couldn't baby sit Daniel at one of these academic conferences, another Immortal would show up to ruin his day. Quite a few words that would have made Carter blush raced through his mind, in long dead languages to boot. He kept his scanning low key. Being generally non confrontational had stood him in good stead over the years. He had never met a fight he couldn't run away from, but that wasn't really an option at the moment, because he had to watch over Daniel and Daniel would be loitering with all these intellectual muckety-mucks for some time to come. 

Finally his ice pale eyes met a pair of tawny hazel eyes, and the Immortal Presence he had been sensing faded to a low hum. The man blinked in an almost reptilian fashion, nodded slightly, and made no move to approach. Cam bit back a smile. Good. Someone old enough to know that a Challenge did not have to immediately follow the sensing of Presence. 

After a few more almost terminally boring minutes, the social networking session was called, and the geeks filed back to their conference rooms. Cam followed Daniel, loitering a bit, scanning for any other threats. His reconnoitre took only a few seconds, and then Cam slouched into the chair next to Daniel, body language that of a bored neanderthal who would much rather be playing football, or at least video games. For the most part, people bought it.

Much to Cam's chagrin, the other Immortal was in the same session. The name on his tag was Dr. Adam Pierson, and he, like Cameron, presented a harmless loose limbed facade. Cam took the opportunity to measure the other fellow up. Dark haired, pale skinned, sharp featured with a prodigious nose. The nose and his strange tawny eyes were his most distinguishing features. Cam was willing to bet that beneath the loose sweater and ill fitting jeans, Dr. Pierson wasn't carrying a single spare ounce of fat. 

Despite that he was trying to look harmless, Cam could easily see the danger in every carefully controlled motion that Pierson made. In some ways, Cam's dress blues provided more adequate cover than any average, figure concealing outfit could. Everyone expected that a military man would walk like he knew how to take care of himself, and that meant that Cam could worry more about other things and less about disguising the fact that he was a trained killer. 

Cam's estimation of the other Immortal went up when he didn't approach after the session. It would have looked suspicious at best to the others in the room, and Cam was quite thankful that Pierson recognized that as well. Recently, it seemed like all his challenges came from snot nosed newbies, Immortals who had a century or less under their belts. Even some of the older ones were getting stupid, and it made him nervous. Cam had never set much stock in the Game, he hadn't heard of it until he was more than halfway through his life to date. The restraint Pierson showed, combined with the fact that his Quickening seemed weak and thready made Cam guess age at over five hundred, probably even a millennial. Usually it took Immortals at least that long to learn to control their power signatures. If Pierson had Challenged him straight away with that sort of Quickening, he would have assumed the dark haired man either very young or older, but a hunter. 

The rest of the day, the Presence of the other Immortal thrummed gently in the back of Cam's consciousness. They did not speak to one another or seek one another out, and by the time dinner and the evening social function rolled around, Cam was beginning to hope he and the other Immortal would simply drift on with their lives without ever meeting, two ships in the night. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Cam was at the bar, watching over the entire room as Daniel socialized when the other Immortal approached the archaeologist. Cam tensed imperceptibly. It was not unheard of for Immortals to target mortals they believed were close to other Immortals. 

Cam waited, soothing his protective nature by mentally listing where he had hid all of his weaponry on his body. A snub nosed pistol on his left ankle, daggers sheathed on both forearms and his right ankle, an automatic pistol with compensator inside his jacket, short handled double bladed battle axe for head taking in the coat he had foolishly put into a locker at the start of the day. On the upside, he didn't see a coat in the other Immortal's hands, and there was no place he could be hiding a sword in his outfit. Cam smiled benignly when Daniel approached at the end of the night, the other Immortal trailing behind him. 

"Making new friends?" Cam asked semi seriously, and Daniel looked at him like he was a brain damaged four year old. 

"I've known Adam since I was in grad school," Daniel said dryly. "I know you're bored, but you could've just stayed at the hotel or something." Cam rolled his eyes dramatically, not bothering to argue. They both knew Cam was under strict orders not to let Daniel out of his sight. "Adam," Daniel said, motioning the other Immortal forward. "This is my baby sitter, Colonel Mitchell. Mitchell, this is my old friend Dr. Adam Pierson." Cam nodded and extended his hand. Pierson shook politely, obviously sizing him up. 

"I still can't believe you're working for the military Dan," the dark haired Immortal said, and Daniel just shrugged. Cam knew the question was aimed at him as well, and he leaned back slightly, catching the bartender's eye. 

"Another coke for me," he said, then looked expectantly at the other two men. 

"Guinness," requested Pierson, and Daniel wrinkled his nose slightly. 

"Coors for me," Daniel said, and at that both Cam and Pierson made faces of mild disgust. Daniel and Pierson chatted for a while longer, then began drifting back towards a booth that opened up in the back. Cam debated for a moment whether to join them or keep watch from the bar. Daniel made the decision for him, glancing back in exasperation and motioning Cam to follow. 

"Just because you're my minder doesn't mean you have to lurk," Daniel huffed, and Cam just shrugged, not bothering to disguise that he was surveying the room as they walked, rechecking his sight lines just in case. 

"So what do you even do?" Pierson was asking as Cam took up a position at the end of the booth, standing such that Daniel was mostly hidden from the view of the other people in the bar. 

Cam only listened with half an ear as Daniel answered. He already knew the standard cover story. As a linguist, Daniel's cover was that he worked in cryptography. For Cam the cover story was much easier, because he was obviously a military man, and so he could just answer "classified," and leave it at that. Most people left him alone once that word left his lips. Only the most persistent would continue to question him after he said his job was classified. 

Usually, even the most inquisitive gave up after a long cold stare. Something about Cam's pale blue grey eyes unnerved people, and he wasn't above using that to keep people from asking too many questions. Part of it, he knew, was that there was simply too much age in his eyes, and that scared people, looking into the glacial eyes of a trained killer in the handsome face of a thirty five year old man. The two intellectuals talked until last call, at which point Cam began giving Daniel pointed looks. 

"Will you calm down?" Daniel bitched. "It's not like you have anything better to be doing." Cam again fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine," Daniel finally grumbled. "Let's go, you can sweep the damn room for bugs or whatever it is you're here to do." Despite knowing that half the bitching was just for show, it still cut Cam a little, because he knew not all of it was feigned. He had never tried to replace Jack O'Neill, would never think of it. But the rest of SG-1 was constantly measuring him against their former commander, despite that Cam had been with them for a few years now himself. 

"Listen," Pierson said to Daniel as they parted for the night. "I'm in one twelve, if you feel like catching up after your minder makes sure your phone isn't tapped or whatever. Give me a call? I'd like to chat a bit more." Daniel nodded with a charming smile, and Cam sized the other Immortal up as he walked away. 

That was a fairly brazen thing to do, and he was guessing the other Immortal would be expecting him later. Maybe he would go, maybe he wouldn't. But he did have to secure Daniel's room, and the hotel perimeter. Daniel might think it was excessive, but it was a pretty well documented fact that when Daniel travelled alone, bad things happened. Cam did sweep for bugs in the room, despite that he had given it an incredibly thorough going over when they first checked in. Satisfied, he nodded at Daniel. 

"You can chit chat with your friend," Cam said. "I'm going to take a last turn around the line. I'll have my comm open if you hear so much as a suspicious peep." Daniel gave him a long suffering look, then sighed and nodded. Cam smiled grimly, shrugging into his wool dress coat, the axe settling comfortably across his shoulder blades. 

He swept up and down every corridor of the hotel, and even if he hadn't known which room Pierson was in, he would have felt him as he walked past. After spending most of the day within sensing distance of the other Immortal, Cam was almost comforted by the low thrum of his now familiar Quickening. Outside, Cam walked a slowly widening spiral. When he reached the end of the hotel and conference center's drive, he walked back up, slipping into his room alongside Daniel's. 

Not too long after he returned to his room, Cam felt the low thrum of Pierson's Quickening again. Cautious despite their earlier indifference, Cam grabbed his silenced pistol and tucked it into his waistband. Silently opening the door, Cam stared evenly at Pierson. The other Immortal smirked up at him through long dark lashes, all long limbed false innocence. Knowing that if Pierson had come without a sword, and he definitely wasn't carrying a blade that Cam could see, it was probably safe, Cam opened the door wider. Pierson slipped inside, and Cam carefully closed the door, then again turned to measure Pierson.

"The military?" Pierson asked, and Mitchell shrugged.

"I was in already when I died the first time," Cam lied. "No one's noticed yet. I'm damn careful. Besides, every so often I manage a rank high enough for a security clearance before folks notice I don't get old. I like being able to look in and make sure they haven't got us figured out yet." Pierson nodded after a long moment, then shook his head with a smile.

"Damn foolhardy thing," Pierson said, but there was a bit of admiration in his voice. Cam just shrugged again, letting a little smile play at the corners of his mouth. "If I may ask," Pierson started, and Cam let out a low sound of amused annoyance. If there was one thing he had learned about most otherwise pleasant Immortals, it was that the ones who lived past five hundred or so without going insane or becoming mass murderers developed a keen sense of curiosity. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But for someone like Cameron, who much preferred to keep all his personal information strictly confidential, it could be bothersome. Pierson's smile said he knew he was bothering Cam, just didn't much care. Cam could respect that.

"American born?" Pierson asked, and Cam nodded, perpetuating the charade that he was still a rather young Immortal. He knew his Quickening control was good enough to pull it off. Pierson nodded, but didn't press for any further information. That surprised Cam somewhat, but he managed to keep from showing it. He had rather a lot of practice, after all.

"So you knew Danny boy in grad school huh?" Cam asked after a while. Pierson nodded, and Cam caught the minute bit the other Immortal relaxed when the question was about someone else. "What was he like? Got any good dirt for me?" Pierson smiled mischievously at that, and told a few yarns. It was harmless, and Cam knew he wouldn't ever repeat any of them. He liked Daniel most of the time, found his antics amusing, if occasionally somewhat childish. After a while more, Pierson stood. Cam nodded in acceptance, but remained sitting. 

"I can't promise I'll stay out of your way," Pierson said. "But I have no intention of challenging you." Cam smiled, letting a bit of his honest relief show on his face. 

"I appreciate it," Cam acknowledged. "Keeping my cover is much easier when there aren't any bodies to get rid of." 

Pierson chortled softly, then showed himself out. As his Quickening faded somewhat in Cam's senses, Cam smiled to himself. He would have to add a few years to Pierson's estimated age. A millenial to be certain, maybe even a bit older than that. Cam knew there were very few, himself included, who survived past their first millenium. But it wasn't unheard of. He wasn't exactly up to date on his list of Immortals. As much as possible he avoided his kindred. All of his own cohort were long dead, and many of the generations that had followed them as well. He almost hoped that he would run into Pierson again. Hopefully, all future meetings would end as this one had.

* * *

It was a couple years before it did happen, but Cam's whimsical desire to see Pierson again was eventually fulfilled. He was alone, Daniel off-world. He was deep in the backwoods of Tennessee, on enforced leave for an injury that his Quickening had healed within minutes. But Dr. Lam had seen it and sent him off without allowing him to argue, and so he was riding trail on an old Walker, a scattergun near at one hand and his axe near the other. 

The shiver of Quickening came without warning, and it took all his long skill to keep from tensing. He was miles from anywhere. If he had to fight, it was better here where they wouldn't be disturbed. He let the horse continue walking, the Presence slowly intensifying, and after a while the path came up on a paved road. Leaning against a stalled out SUV was Pierson, and Cam let out a low bark of laughter. 

"Mitchell," Pierson said with something like relief, and Cam nodded in greeting. 

"Need a hand?" Cam offered, already halfway out of his stirrups.

"It's plumb dead," Pierson said. "That nag of yours fit to bear two?" Cam laughed softly, patting the mare's neck gently.

"Probably not," Cam admitted. "She's a sweet old thing, but not the strongest goer. I'm willing to lead her a ways." 

Pierson nodded, and Cam waited as the other Immortal grabbed a coat. Cam was willing to bet there was a sword tucked in it, and he wouldn't begrudge the man that. He dismounted, and not too much to his surprise, Pierson mounted with practiced ease. Cam took the reins and gently urged the mare to walk on, towards town. 

Well, "town" was putting things nicely. There was a gas station with a general store and diner, a bar that served a mean brunch, a gun shop, a farm supply store, and a Walmart with all the modern conveniences. Cam had liked the place a whole lot better before the Walmart came in. He dropped Pierson at the service station, and he probably should have left it at that. But there was something lonely and all too familiar in Pierson's tawny eyes as Cam swung up onto his mare.

"Gotta do a few things," Cam said. "Pick you up in a couple hours?" Pierson seemed to ease a bit at the offer, and nodded with a genuine smile. Cam allowed himself to smile in return, although he knew that as ever, it wouldn't reach his eyes. As promised, he returned a few hours later in his pickup, found Pierson waiting for him with a duffle and that same god-awful coat. Cam simply unlatched the door and pushed it open, and Pierson tossed the bag in the back and climbed in without comment. They rode in silence out to Cam's ranch, him debating every step of the way whether this was the right decision or not. Two meetings without a beheading did not a friendship make. 

"There's an old burying ground in that copse on the rise, and a phone in the kitchen if you need to get in touch with anyone," Cam settled on saying as he killed the engine, and then he got out and dropped the tail gate, clambering into the bed of the truck to begin unloading feed and other supplies. Taking the hint, Pierson showed himself into the house. He just poked around at first, getting the lay of the land. Both bedrooms were set in military order, but there was a worn out pair of running shoes in the one at the back of the house, and so he dropped his things in the front bedroom with the empty closets. Out the lace curtained windows, he watched as Mitchell mopped his brow, then stripped off his work shirt and finished unloading the truck in his shirt sleeves. 

There were definitely aspects of the all-American in the man, but there was more as well, and Methos knew when he was being lied to. He didn't think Mitchell was out to get him. It would have been very easy to do out on the country road that afternoon. So he had a genuine enigma on his hands, a seemingly nice guy who wanted to stay below the radar and packed some serious heat. Methos figured he couldn't argue with that. After unloading the truck, Cam chopped a few cords of wood. By the time he finished, it was nearly full dark. When he came into the house through the kitchen door, Pierson was poking at his antiquated stove, trying to get the burners to light. 

"Have to turn on the gas," Cam said softly, knowing his guest would have been alerted to his presence by the creak of the screen door. Pierson glanced over, and Cam sauntered to him, stilling him with a hand on the hip as he leaned past to turn the master key. Pierson tried the burner again, and it whooshed to life. Cam smiled, that same frozen expression from before, but the dance of the blue flames gave life to his flat eyes, made him look a little less uncanny. Methos nodded, again wondering who exactly his host was. Someone old, he was certain of. But beyond that, there were few hints. Too old to be American as he claimed, but that still left far too many options.

"I was going to have dinner ready," Pierson said with a disarming little shrug. Cam's smile widened, until it almost reached his eyes. Methos couldn't help himself at that. Mentally he sent up a prayer to a god he didn't believe in, then leaned in to kiss Cam tentatively. With a low groan Cam gathered the other Immortal close, kissing back hungrily. 

"Dinner first," Cam growled, then nipped at Pierson's lips. "Then," he said, and left it hanging. Neither of them was quite sure what then. But it promised to be fun, and frankly, that was about all Cam was feeling up for, especially with another Immortal. Pierson nodded, his face becoming mask-like. Cam almost let out a real smile at that. Definitely another old man, old enough to be a cipher. It was somehow comforting, although he knew it shouldn't be. An Immortal old enough to have Cam guessing was dangerous, a hazard to his continued existence. Somehow, he didn't much care about that at the moment. 

"I'll go get the jenny going," Cam murmured, and on that pale excuse slipped away. Soon the low rumble of the generator came from the shed, and when Cam came back in he turned on the lights so they could see to get dinner ready.

Two hours of generator time were long enough to get dinner cooked and eaten and the dishes clean. Once rinsed, Cam left them to dry in the sink, and with the last half hour of gas he had put in the generator, he turned on the old wireless that had stood in the house since 1850, the first in the county. It hummed to life like a charm, picking up a station from down in Nashville. Soft old country songs eased the quiet, and with a lazy sigh Cam sat, poking with an iron at the door of the woodstove. The coals were still glowing dully when he unbanked them, and so he stirred them to life under his guest's inquisitive gaze. There were aspects of his ease with this rustic life that he knew would add years to Pierson's estimates of his age. Cam found himself not terribly disconcerted by that. 

Perhaps he was getting reckless in his old age. He knew it happened. He had seen it many times. Old men losing their caution, thinking that once they reached five or six millenia, they had become invulnerable as well as immortal. They went poorly, those reckless fools. If this was it, if this was the beginning of his end, quiet company by the fire on a cool March night, Cam figured there were worse ways. He stoked the fire until it roared, and even after the generator died, the wireless whirred on for a little while, its circuits charged. Eventually the music died away, and the stillness of the country night crept in to curl tight around them.

Methos stood, his movements loud in the stillness. His host glanced over, pale eyes slitted in the orange glow of the fire. The man was more a mystery than ever, and Methos couldn't help but be a bit aroused at that. This man, he could almost imagine, was his equal. This was no wet behind the ears pup of a few hundred years, he was almost certain of that. No, Mitchell was at least a thousand if he were a day, and perhaps older yet than that. He could feel those unreadable eyes on him as he left the room, and realized he was holding his breath, listening for soft footsteps behind his own. He was naked when he heard the stealthy footfalls on the bare board floors. 

He turned, letting the moonlight that came in the front windows illuminate his form. He was placing himself at a disadvantage, and he knew Mitchell would know that. He was damnably vulnerable like this; naked, obviously unarmed, blind to his surroundings. There was a whisper of sound from the shadows near the door, and he held himself perfectly still. Mitchell stepped out into the pool of moonlight, his heavy work shirt falling from his hands. His washed thin undershirt followed, and his hands stilled on his belt buckle. 

"This is a bad idea," Mitchell said softly, and Methos smiled wryly and nodded, knowing it well. Mitchell gave him a tiny quirk of amusement in response, and then undid his belt and stepped out of his jeans. He was quite nicely made under his clothes, more scarred than Methos himself. Pale hair was dusted over his golden chest and thickened and darkened as it trailed down his centerline towards his groin. His legs were slender and muscular, a runners build like Methos himself had, although perhaps broader across the shoulders. Methos had noted earlier, that Mitchell had carried an axe rather than a sword, and it was a tricky weapon, a heavy one that demanded heavier musculature. It had at first brought unwanted memories of Silas, and he had pushed those away. Mitchell, although Methos knew next to nothing of him, seemed a very different sort of man than his brother had been.

They drew together slowly, measuring one another with their flat eyes. They kissed slowly, testing one another with their mouths. Methos gasped as Mitchell's hand curled around the nape of his neck, and as his hand closed on the point of Mitchell's hip, he got an answering gasp in return. They eased slowly together, each feeling the other man's matching erection. Carefully they pulled one another closer, until they were rubbing together slowly. They panted against one another's pulses, hitching their hips together more rapidly. They rutted soundlessly, their sweat slicking the press of their cocks. Mitchell came with a soft wounded cry, humping desperately against Methos' thigh as his seed spilled between them. Methos came not long after, muffling his grunt of release against Mitchell's rounded shoulder as he leaned against him.

"Rest well," Mitchell said softly. Methos panted, letting the other man draw away. The moonlight was somewhat diminished, and Mitchell kissed him sweetly. "Rest," he urged, and although Methos knew it wasn't the Voice, not as Cassandra had used it, he felt wear drag at his limbs. He nodded, leaning in for one more slow kiss, and then he released Mitchell. There was an ewer and basin in the corner, and he used the flannel there to wipe the seed from his loins. It had only been a rut in the darkness, and yet it had brought him cleaner release than any encounter he had since he buried Alexa. He smiled slightly as he thought of her, and then he slipped naked between the sheets. 

When Methos rose in the morning, there was hot coffee on the wood stove in the front room, and the insulated cold box (no ice) held a small pitcher of milk. There were warm biscuits and he soon found an open pot of preserves. It was downright homey, and Methos found himself appreciating his host more and more. This was a nice little place to disappear, and he hadn't seen hide or hair of Watchers either. He had gotten the impression when they first met that Mitchell was off the radar, keeping himself from notice if at all possible. The ease with which he seemed to do it, that was what was commendable to Methos. Although he supposed that being in the military would keep people from sniffing around too much. It was just plain reckless given the documentation most governments required in the modern age. But Mitchell had evidently managed it, perhaps with some frequency, and again Methos felt admiration for the man.

Methos could feel the low hum of Presence, but it wasn't unnerving as he was certain it should have been. Eventually Mitchell came back to the house, smelling like hay and horse, and Methos smiled. A rut in the darkness was one thing, but as Mitchell came into the kitchen, Methos decided to try for more.


End file.
